John Nance - Headwind

“Sir…” Swanson began, hesitating just long enough to register the fleeting internal conflict Campbell was waiting for, “President Harris’s status is classified military information. I am not at liberty to divulge that to you or anyone else.”

Stuart Campbell nodded slowly, his eyes carefully noting Swanson’s slightly accelerated breathing.

“Very well, Captain. I understand thoroughly. John Harris is still here.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Oh, but you did. Very clearly.”

Swanson shook his head as he leveled an index finger at the lawyer, his eyes angry slits. “Get in the car, Mr. Campbell. Now! Against my better judgment I’m going to violate my orders and take you down to the aircraft. And then, sir, you’re going to get your sanctimonious ass off my base. Understood?”

“As you wish, Captain,” Campbell said, noting that Swanson’s radio was in plain view on the dashboard, cancelling any hopes the commander might have of making an emergency warning call to the EuroAir pilots.

There was a young Navy policeman guarding the door to the ramp and the Boeing 737 beyond. He was just a boy in a sharp sailor suit, and little more than nineteen or twenty years old, General Ed Glueck thought. He’d watched the boy carefully for several minutes, trying to discern his level of sophistication, watching as he occasionally looked up to smile at the music on the PA system when it switched to something upbeat.

The general approached him quietly.

“Son?”

“Yes, sir?” the young sailor said, somewhat taken aback to be approached by one of the passengers.

“I want you to take a look at the rank on this ID card,” the general said, handing over his gray U.S. Department of Defense credential card that identified him as a retired brigadier general.

The young man’s eyes grew a bit wider. “Yes, sir, General. What… can I do for you?”

The general gently reclaimed the ID card and slipped it back in his wallet as he turned and looked at the milling passengers, speaking conspiratorially out of the side of his mouth.

“I need to get back out to that aircraft.”

The Navy guard inhaled sharply and stiffened as conflicting duties swirled in his mind against the background of orders and limited experience.

This was a general officer ! But this was a retired general officer.

“Sir, I… I can’t do that…”

The general turned and leaned close to the boy’s ear. “This is a matter of national security, son, and neither of us has time to seek formal authority. If your captain was here, I’d talk to him. But I need to slip out there right this minute. This is one of those times you were trained to expect where you have to be brave enough to do what you know is right even without formal authority.”

“But, sir…”

“I’m unarmed, and my wife, Joanie, is standing right over there. Obviously I’m not going anywhere without her, and I can’t be up to no good.”

“Yes, sir, but my orders…”

“Are superseded by mine. I’m giving you the authority. You do realize that a general officer is never off active duty, by the way?” he fibbed, knowing full well that only five-star generals were never retired, and with the death of General Omar Bradley decades before, there were no more living five-stars.

“Really, sir?”

“Just open the door. I’ll be back in ten minutes. All I need to do is confer with the captain of that airliner. If your captain gets upset, I’ll explain everything. I outrank him anyway, don’t I?”

“I suppose.”

“Didn’t they teach you that? A star beats an eagle?”

The young man nodded and swallowed as he surveyed the room and quietly turned the knob on the door behind him, letting Edwin Glueck slip into the cool and humid night air.

The distance to the aircraft was minimal, and he was in sufficiently good shape to jog to the airstairs. The forward door to the Boeing was closed but not sealed, and he knocked gently.

The man he’d suspected was a Secret Service agent peeked around the edge of the door and he slipped his ID card through. There were voices in the entryway before the door swung open and the man handed the card back.

“What do you need, General Glueck?” the man asked.

“Access to the captain.”

“Why?”

“Because I know the President is still here and I’ve got a terminal full of U.S. military veterans ready to help protect him.”

The last direct flight of the day to Europe from Denver International was scheduled to leave in less than three hours, and Jay Reinhart was still at his kitchen counter in Laramie, a hundred fifty road miles from the airport.

“There’s got to be another way,” he said to the travel agent whose help he’d enlisted on his cell phone.

“No, and I doubt you’d make it anyway. That snowstorm has U.S. two eighty-seven closed over the pass, and I hear there’s a real mess on the interstate south of Cheyenne.”

“How about Chicago? Could I fly through there? Or… or Atlanta?”

“Sure, but any transatlantic connections will probably leave tomorrow morning, getting you in late tomorrow evening.”

“Dallas?”

“Same story. I can’t even get you on a commuter to Denver in time. But, look, may I make a suggestion?”

“Are you kidding? I’m desperate.”

“Charter an airplane to take you to Denver International. Even a Cessna can make it in an hour.”

“Charter…”

“An airplane. Yes, sir. It’s expensive, but if you really want to get on that last flight tonight, it’s the only way.”

The thought of fighting panic for eleven hours in a jumbo jet had been bad enough. Suddenly he found himself battling images of crashing to his death in a small jet, and a small wave of nausea pulsed through him.

“Mr. Reinhart?”

“What?”

“Did you hear me?”

“Ah…” He swallowed hard. “Yeah. Yeah, I… I’m sorry. That’s the only way, huh?”

He thanked the agent and yanked the phone book out of the desk to flip to air charters, trying to keep his mind on anything but the fact that he was trying to pay money to get himself inserted into a small aircraft that would undoubtedly plunge to earth at the first opportunity.

Straighten up! People do this every day!

There were three charter operators listed, but none could help.

“I’m sorry, sir. All our birds are out for the day, including our Citation.”

“Your what?”

“It’s a jet.”

“Oh. Could you recommend someone in Denver who could come get me?”

“We tried that an hour ago for another customer, Mr. Reinhart. There might be somebody available, but we couldn’t find anyone. There’s some big function going on in Aspen for the rich and shameless, and it’s sucked all the charter aircraft out of the area.”

“I’ll pay double,” he heard himself saying, feeling almost giddy at the thought of paying for his own demise.

“Sorry.”

Jay replaced the phone with his mind racing. There had to be another way. No time to drive, no charters, no commuters, but…

The thought of a conversation with one of his students during the fall semester flashed in his head. David somebody. He was a private pilot and had his own plane and they were arguing in good-natured fashion over whether humans should fly, with his vote firmly in the negative. Was there any remote chance, Jay wondered, that he might be available for hire? He would eat the requisite crow as long as he could get to Denver in time.

Dammit! What was the name? David… David… Carmichael! That’s it!