John Nance - Headwind

“Craig, let’s climb.”

“Just a second,” he replied.

“ No , dammit! Not just a second, I mean now!” Alastair barked.

“Look…”

“Craig, you’re going too far! You’re into reckless flying and I’ll have no more of it!”

“I know what I’m doing,” Craig snapped.

“No, you bloody well don’t! You’re tunneling in on a single objective. That trait kills even testosterone-soaked fighter pilots like you! This is foolhardy.”

Craig studied Alastair with a quick glance and began easing the yoke back to start a shallow climb.

“Five hundred okay?”

“For now, yes.”

“All right,” Craig said quietly.

“All right,” Alastair echoed, watching the radar altitude increase until Craig leveled at five hundred.

“Sorry,” Craig said as the lights of the ship ahead swam safely beneath their nose.

Craig looked at Alastair, noting the alarm still in his eyes.

“You still with me, man?” Craig asked.

“Barely,” was the reply.

Jay found a small bench just outside the door of the private terminal before punching in the first of several numbers. The reassuring voice of Michael Garrity answered on the third ring.

“This is Jay Reinhart again.”

“Hello! A bit early to have answers for you, Mr. Reinhart, but…” Garrity said.

“I need just one,” Jay said, interrupting. “If I bring the President’s plane into Dublin tonight, and if the opposition arrives with their warrant, how quickly could they have the warrant perfected and arrest him?”

“Tomorrow’s St. Patrick’s Day here in the Republic of Ireland, and no one will be working at the Four Courts. Mind you, we don’t get as carried away as you Americans do celebrating, but St. Patrick’s Day is a grand excuse for an official holiday. So, unless your President commits an act heinous enough to attract the Garda’s attention, I’d say he’s a free man until the following day, Thursday. Certainly no one in the judiciary’s going to pay any attention until then.

“Really?”

“It’s the district court that would handle such an Interpol warrant, Mr. Reinhart, and Scotland Yard couldn’t ferret out one of our district judges on a national holiday. Especially not St. Paddy’s Day. They go in hiding, I’m all but convinced.”

“So… we could safely get the President a hotel room?”

“I don’t see why not. But wouldn’t he prefer to stay at your American Ambassador’s residence here? It’s really quite large, and I know they have quarters fit for a U.S. president.”

“No,” Jay said. “Better to have no official involvement, I think. Besides, that could be misinterpreted as an attempt at asylum and create a diplomatic mess.”

“Very well, a hotel it shall be. Do you have a credit card number I can use?”

“Ah… yes.” Jay struggled to pull out his American Express and read the number and expiration date.

“Very good, Mr. Reinhart. I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’ll call you back, then,” Jay said. “I’m going to change the plan.”

He rang off and dialed the 737’s satellite phone, relieved to get a rapid answer. “Captain Dayton? Good job! Whatever you did out there fooled everyone. Campbell and Byer think you’ve crashed.”

“This is the copilot, Mr. Reinhart… and as the old saw goes, rumors of our demise have been greatly exaggerated.”

“They certainly have,” Jay said. “This buys us time, but I’ve got a different plan.”

Jay could hear deep concern and tension on the other end. “Go ahead.”

“First, where are you?”

“Heading up the north sea at barely five hundred feet in an insane attempt to sneak into Scotland.”

“We need to change the destination.”

Alastair looked over at Craig, then back over his shoulder at John Harris, and repeated Jay’s words, adding: “And where would you like us to go now, Mr. Reinhart?”

“Dublin, Ireland. Can you make it?”

“Certainly we can, but how we get there is the question.”

Craig turned to Alastair, mouthing the word, “Where?”

“Now he wants us in Dublin,” Alastair replied, turning back to the receiver. “Look, Mr. Reinhart, Dublin’s a big, controlled airport. We can’t sneak in there. A little airport like Inverness, Scotland, doesn’t have a control tower to worry with us, but Dublin’s impossible. We’d be as subtle as a battleship in a bathtub.”

“I don’t really care how you do it, as long as you’re safe,” Jay said. “The fiction that you’ve crashed was to give you time to get to Scotland and refuel to go on to Iceland or Canada before they could show up with the arrest warrant. But that’s no good now. We can’t have President Harris land anywhere in Great Britain.”

“And no one’s going to come after the President in Ireland?” Alastair asked.

“Not for a few days. Let me speak with the President, please, while you fellows figure out how to do this.”

Alastair handed the phone over his shoulder.

“Yes, Jay?”

“I’ve hired a legal team in Dublin, John. Ireland has ratified the treaty, but tomorrow’s a holiday, so there won’t be any judges around to sign a warrant. Besides, Ireland is a good friend of the U.S., as you know, and they, unlike the British, have no special axe to grind regarding Pinochet, so in my judgment we’re far better off there.”

“I’m in your hands, Jay.”

“I’m doing my best, but I’m more or less having to turn on a dime here as I find out new things.”

“Understood.”

“We’ll get you a hotel room near the Dublin airport so you can rest up. Our barrister thinks it will be the day after tomorrow before Campbell can hope to get the warrant converted. And I’m thinking, John, that we might be able to just buy you a ticket and get you on a direct commercial flight back to New York.”

“I like that idea, Jay. About the hotel… we also need rooms for our two pilots and three flight attendants, plus Sherry, me, and my secret service agent.” There was a long pause. “You really think I could just get on Aer Lingus or someone else and fly home?”

“It’s possible, but if not, maybe we can refuel your bird, extend the charter, and make it to Maine. I haven’t talked to the pilots about that, yet. All I know is I can’t bring you down anywhere in the U.K. now.”

“Hold on,” the President said, cradling the phone as he leaned forward. “Craig? Alastair? Can we do this, and if so, how?”

Craig nodded. “I think we’ll keep going the way we started and just skirt around the northern coastline of Scotland, then turn southwest and contact Dublin Center for a clearance into the airport when we’re fifty miles out. We’ve already caused a massive, unnecessary search. If we try to go back into positive control now, we’re liable to draw the RAF out with orders to force us to land.”

John Harris looked at the copilot, who was nodding assent.

“What time do you expect to arrive?” Jay asked.

Harris leaned forward again. “How long to Dublin?”

“Around two hours and twenty minutes flying like this,” Alastair said, and the President repeated the estimate.

“When you land,” Jay said, “if I’m not there, call a Mr. Michael Garrity. He’s our barrister.” Jay passed the number. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can find a flight.”

“Charter a jet, Jay,” John Harris said.

“If I can’t find a commercial flight, I will,” Jay said, “as long as it has a minimum of two engines and all the instruments money can buy.”

“I take it there’s a story there,” the President said.

“I’m not sure you want to know,” Jay replied. “I’ll call you back when I’ve arranged a flight to Dublin.”