John Nance - Headwind

“We’ll go through there. I try not to drive on the operations ramp any more than necessary, for safety reasons.”

Campbell said nothing as he unfolded his six-foot-four frame and followed the uniformed commander into the terminal and through the mixture of curious and upset passengers to the ramp-side door. He caught himself casually scanning the crowd for the familiar form of the ex-President before concluding that Harris would never try to slip out in such a manner. He could hear buses pulling up behind the staff car as an announcement was made for the passengers to get ready to board.

“Are they headed to the charter aircraft?” Campbell asked, remembering a brief, open exchange Swanson had just had on the radio as they drove toward the flight line. Apparently EuroAir had chartered the same 727 he’d just released a half hour before.

Just as well , Campbell thought. If Harris is here, the fewer passengers in the way, the better .

The Captain spoke to one of his enlisted security men, who opened the door to the ramp and let them pass.

The Boeing sat a hundred feet away, still pointed west, as Campbell followed the Navy officer around its nose and up the airstairs. The forward entry door was partially closed, and Swanson spoke a few words to someone inside before the door opened, and first one, then several older men stepped onto the top of the platform, one of them having difficulty walking, the weight of his years forcing him to hold on tightly to the top of the railing.

“What do you want, Captain?” one of them asked.

“I need to get this man aboard to inspect the aircraft,” Captain Swanson said evenly, taking in the presence of the men without comment.

“And who is he?” the first man asked, pointing to the lawyer.

“Excuse me,” Stuart Campbell said firmly, “who are you ?”

“Brigadier General Edwin Glueck, United States Army, retired, sir. And, again, who might you be?”

Stuart Campbell hesitated as he thought through the possibilities without finding a clear answer to what was going on. He held out his hand, but the self-identified general refused to take it.

Campbell identified himself anyway.

“We’ve chartered this airplane, Mr. Campbell,” General Glueck said. “We’re on a tour that’s been interrupted and we’d like to get on with it.”

“You’ve… chartered…”

“Yes, sir. We called EuroAir and chartered this aircraft, since no one else is using it now. The other passengers are going back to Rome on another aircraft. This one is ours.”

“I see. Well, I’d simply like to take a look aboard.”

“Why?”

Campbell smiled and looked at his shoes, the picture coalescing. “Why? Well, sir, if you’re truly a retired general, then you jolly well know why. I need to be assured that one John Harris, former President of the United States, is not aboard this airplane.”

“By what authority, Mr. Campbell?” General Glueck asked. “I’ll admit I’m not a lawyer…”

“I am,” a frail man at his side said in a surprisingly firm voice.

“And you would be another general, I suppose,” Campbell said with a slight sneer.

“No, sir. I would be, and am, a retired Air Force colonel from the Judge Advocate Corps, and unless you have some exotic jurisdictional claim I’ve never encountered, you have no official status here and no right to come aboard.”

Campbell laughed as derisively as he could manage. “Very well, gentlemen. The geriatric army, eh what? You’re all on some misguided quest to let your ex-President hide behind your skirts, so I’ll just go get the authorities and the proper arrest warrant and we’ll plow through whoever wants to stand in the way and arrest him anyway.”

“No you won’t, Campbell,” Captain Swanson snapped.

“Excuse me?”

“The situation hasn’t changed. This ramp is off-limits to the Italian authorities, and regardless of who is or isn’t aboard, without my authority no one is arresting anyone in this aircraft.”

“Oh, give it a rest, Captain!” Stuart Campbell said, real irritation melding with fatigue.

“Get away from our aircraft,” General Glueck added.

Stuart Campbell began to turn away, then faced Glueck again. “Very well, General. Your over-the-hill gang can keep your President for now, but…”

“That’s quite enough abuse from you, Stuart!” A firm voice reached the lawyer from behind the assembled veterans, and John Harris stepped onto the top of the airstairs and gently pushed through them to face Campbell. “These are brave, honorable men trying to protect the office, not the man. Don’t you dare sneer at them or abuse them!”

“Well, well, John. You’re looking exceptionally present for a man in a C- 17 a thousand miles from here.”

“Cute, Stuart. If you concluded I was gone, that was your mistake.”

“Oh, of course. Well, now that I know for certain you’re here, we’ll simply get this circus started again.”

“No, you won’t. You’re going to get your tail back in that jet of yours and go to London. I’ll meet you there, and we’ll hash out this inane warrant in the British courts.”

Stuart Campbell looked stunned for just a moment, then recovered.

“I see. Well…”

“You are still a British citizen, aren’t you, Stuart?”

“Of course.”

“An expatriate Scot, of course, and a loyal, obedient servant of the Queen.”

“Ancient insults, John?”

“This is a dirty quest you’re on, Stuart. You’re going to damage the very treaty you’re trying to uphold.”

Stuart Campbell looked at the ashen faces of the old men arrayed around them and decided to mute his reply.

“Well, Mr. President, we shall see. I do not accept your London offer. I will reassemble the Italian authorities and we’ll accept your surrender right here. We’re going to extradite you from Italy to Peru, and the sooner you accept that fact, the better for everyone… including the office.”

“Over our dead bodies,” General Glueck muttered, the other veterans echoing agreement.

“Mr. Campbell,” Swanson interjected, “this visit has ended. I’ll escort you off my ramp.” Swanson took his elbow, but Campbell yanked his arm free and turned back to John Harris, looking him in the eye for a few seconds before regaining control of himself and deciding to say nothing. He turned away and descended the airstairs, walking rapidly, his broad shoulders hunched forward in determination as Swanson hurried to keep up.

Campbell climbed back in his Learjet in a state of agitation, barely acknowledging his pilots as he plopped down in one of the plush captain’s chairs, consulted a small notebook, and yanked the satellite phone from its cradle. He punched a flurry of numbers into the instrument and waited, drumming his fingers on the fold-out desk.

“Giuseppe? Stuart Campbell. Please listen closely, old friend. Harris, it turns out, is still on the ground in Sigonella, and I have a proposition for you.”

David Carmichael scanned the air traffic control clearance he’d jotted down and pressed the transmit button on the Cessna’s small control yoke.

“Roger, ah, ATC clears Cessna Two-Two-Five Juliet November to the Denver airport via the Laramie VOR, then Victor Five Seventy-Five to the Ramms Three Arrival to Denver International. On departure, climb to twelve thousand, departure frequency one two five point nine, squawk two six six nine.”

“What is all that?” Jay asked, hearing Carmichael’s words in the headset against the background noise of the engine and propeller as they sat by the end of the runway.