John Nance - Headwind

“I’m sorry, Sir William,” the pilot replied, “but a storm cell is moving directly toward the Luton airport and an approach simply isn’t wise. Stansted is also in a rainstorm, but we can hold for Luton and wait until the storm passes, if you like.”

“I don’t have time!” Campbell snapped again. “I need to be in the Covent Garden area almost immediately. At the speed that storm’s moving, we’ll be on the ramp and in our cars before it gets close.”

“You forget the gust front that precedes a thunderstorm. Such gust fronts can hide windshear.”

“Well, blast it, let’s divert to Heathrow then.”

“We don’t have a slot for going into Heathrow.”

“So we’re stuck with waiting for Luton?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Jean-Paul, for heaven’s sake, we’re five miles from the runway! At least be so good as to try an approach, will you?”

“Take the airplane, Gina,” Jean-Paul Charat said quietly in French to his wife in the copilot’s seat.

“Oui,” she replied. “Remain in holding?”

“Oui.”

Jean-Paul slid his seat back and snapped off his seat belt as he looked around at his employer. “Sir William, may I speak to you in the cabin?”

“Why? You can say anything you’d like right here,” Stuart Campbell grumbled, backing up when he realized the captain wasn’t taking no for an answer. Jean-Paul swung his body out of the command seat, and Campbell retreated to the cabin ahead of him and sat down, aware that his pilot was angry.

“Permit me to apologize, Jean-Paul,” Campbell began, but the pilot was shaking his head and his jaw was set as he settled onto the compact couch opposite Campbell’s seat and faced him, his hands clasped in front of him.

“This is a very serious occurrence, Sir William. When you employed Gina and me, you made us a solemn promise that you would never attempt to put pressure on us to override our better judgment as pilots, and that is exactly what you have just attempted to do.”

“I said I’m sorry, old boy. It shan’t happen again.”

“I will require a blood oath from you, Sir William, or as soon as we park this aircraft, we will leave your employ.”

Stuart Campbell shook his head and held his hand up. “I humbly apologize, Jean-Paul! You are correct. I made you that very promise, and I let my own scheduling anxieties get the best of me.”

“I must have your renewed promise,” the pilot said, his eyes boring into Stuart Campbell’s.

“You have it,” Campbell replied, extending his hand. “You have my word this will not happen again.” He started to get out of the seat. “I’ll go up and apologize to Gina as well.”

Jean-Paul stopped him from standing as he shook Campbell’s hand with formality. “No. I shall reassure Gina. But you do have a choice to make, Sir William. We have another hour and ten minutes of holding fuel, and if the storm clears the airport we might be able to land then, or we can proceed immediately to Gatwick and have a car or a helicopter waiting for you.”

“Let’s go to Gatwick,” Campbell said without hesitation.

“Very well. And a helicopter, perhaps?”

“No. A car will be fine.”

Jean-Paul nodded and got up as Stuart Campbell lightly touched his arm.

“Jean-Paul? I really do value your professionalism and your conservative thinking. Thank you for keeping us safe.”

“You’re welcome, Sir William,” Jean-Paul said evenly, studying his employer’s face and hesitating. “This situation… with the American President… it has you agitated, no?”

“It does,” Campbell agreed with a sigh. “It’s a very serious, precedent-setting action, this. Very important to the development of international law.”

“And, I think to you, personally, it is important,” the captain offered.

“You mean, is there some old score to settle? There will be that criticism, but the truth is plain and simple, Jean-Paul. He’s guilty… although I’m not even sure John Harris knows it.”

Stuart Campbell waited until Jean-Paul returned to the cockpit before pulling the phone out of its cradle. He punched in a string of numbers and waited for a male voice to answer.

“What’s our status, Henri?” he asked.

“We have the judge for four o’clock in the Bow Street Magistrate Court. That’s the court that by law will eventually have to rule on extradition.”

“The committal hearing, as we call it for some obscure reason?” Campbell added.

“Absolutely.”

“Henri, please double-check my memory of the extradition procedure. First we’re essentially asking the municipal police to take the Interpol warrant to the magistrate and apply for a British arrest warrant.”

“That’s correct, Sir William. When we get the warrant, the police make the arrest, and then Peru has to send a formal request to the Secretary of State for extradition…”

“Already been done,” Campbell said, stopping the other man.

“Really?”

“Yes. Last week. Go on.”

“Very well. Once the arrest has been made, the Secretary will decide whether to sign the so-called Authority to Proceed.”

“He will.”

“And… then we deal with the committal hearing, which could drag on for several days. With Pinochet, it tied up the Bow Street Court for a week.”

“True, but Amnesty International was there, as was Spain, all represented by a gaggle of QC’s.”

“Well, once that’s over and it goes against Harris, his counsel may ask the Divisional Court for a habeas corpus writ.”

“Which he will not get.”

“Sir William, with Harris still on the ground at Sigonella, is there any chance the Italians will change their minds?”

Stuart laughed. “None. Anselmo is praying that Harris escapes as quickly as possible. He has no reason to guess that I’m hoping the same thing.”

“No flight plan has been filed as yet. You’re certain they’ll come to London?”

“It was John Harris’s own idea,” Stuart chuckled, “although he’s obviously misread the political climate.”

“Rather badly, I would say. Any chance he’ll discover that in time?”

“I would think not. Now, in the meantime, I want you to proceed with the plan I gave you this morning.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, Henri. Right now. The sooner we flush them out of there, the less time they’ll have to think it over. Make the call.”

Being chauffeured to #10 Downing Street was a baffling turn of events, Jay Reinhart thought, as he got out of the government car and followed a grim-faced man in a gray suit into a compact conference room to wait for the Deputy PM. Why they would have been expecting his call was even more of a mystery, although it was probably a result of White House efforts to help.

Hopefully that’s it, Jay thought. Hopefully the British want John Harris out of this, too.

Perhaps he could arrange a quiet little deal to give the chartered 737 time to refuel at some British airport and be on its way before the courts could get involved. That might work, he thought, provided Stuart Campbell hadn’t already taken the warrant to a British magistrate. He couldn’t expect the government of Great Britain to defy its own courts.

The fact that the aircraft couldn’t make it back to the United States without another refueling stop in Iceland or Greenland was still a significant problem. He wondered if they could charter another, longer-range aircraft, or even shift the President to a regular commercial flight at Heathrow.

If not, perhaps they could make Canada in one hop, although the reaction of the Canadian Government couldn’t be taken for granted either. They, too, had ratified the treaty.